The Beginning
by Dark Lady of the Circus
Summary: This is a quick oneshot about the original binding and breaking of Orannis and the creation of the Charter.


A/N: Just a nice oneshot about what I think the original binding and breaking of Orannis and creation of the Charter would be like. If you're looking for fuzzy uplifting, look elsewhere. Reading this makes even me depressed. I'm about to drag you into a mine shaft and turn off the lights.

P.S. If there are things different than the books (such as Celestierre instead of Ancelstierre, have patience with me. All will be revealed by the end. Don't just stop the second you see a mistake and flame me. If you're gonna flame me, at least read the whole thing first.

* * *

Five great Charters knit the land,  
Together linked hand and hand.  
One in the people who wear the crown,  
Two in the folk who keep the Dead down.  
Three and five became stone and mortar,  
Four sees all in frozen water.

* * *

It was known by many names. Orannis, though this was seldom uttered, for the very name contained awful power, the Destroyer, the Unmaker, the Unraveler, for that is what It did, but most often, It was known only as _It_. It had destroyed six worlds, leaving ashy ruins, and others were coming to take revenge.

This was where the final battle would take place.

Orannis, the Destroyer had chosen this world for Its seventh destruction.

The Guardian of the world in question would not allow this. She spread herself over the skies of her world, denying It entrance. She screamed in anger and fury as It passed right through her, hardly slowing as it punched through a shield that should have kept out anything. She screamed and screamed as if she could stop It by the mere sound of her voice.

Her screams alerted others, others who gathered quickly to the sound that was not a sound, remembering when that very sound had emanated from them.

The Guardian felt the presence of the others, and when a voiceless voice whispered, "Lady, let us alight on your world," she instantly complied. As her essence touched a grassy meadow near a lake, a woman formed. She saw that six others had materialized in a ring around her, then the pain began, and she collapsed onto the grass. She clutched her right hip, where there was hole the size of a grapefruit was bored through her body. The hole was from when It passed through her attempt to protect her world. As she writhed on the ground, the six watchers did nothing. They knew the pain would pass and the wound would heal. Their eyes softened, thought. Their eyes softened though. All bore identical marks on their own bodies.

Minutes later, or perhaps days, the woman got to her feet. The puncture had healed, leaving a circle of shiny pink scar tissue that would never disappear. She spun slowly around, looking at the circle. A dark-haired man with bleached-looking bone white skin, dark eyes, and broad, open features. A tall woman with dark hair and dancing brown eyes. A golden-haired, brown-skinned woman with brilliant aquamarine eyes which seemed to be distracted even as they bored into the Guardian's own. A broad man with light brown hair and deep brown eyes who seemed to be anchored to the earth. A large man, tall and muscular, with brown hair and deep black eyes that the Guardian felt she would fall into if she wasn't careful. A woman with dark hair and gray eyes, gray eyes that were filled with a terrible, terrible sorrow.

As she looked at them, they looked at her, taking in her blonde hair, fair skin, green eyes, and aristocratic, fine-boned face.

She knew their names: Mosrael, the broad-featured man, Kibeth, the woman with dancing eyes, Dyrim, the graceful, golden woman, Belgaer, the man anchored to the ground, Saraneth, the black-eyed man, and Astarael, the sorrowful woman, just as they knew her name: Ranna.

"It is here," Ranna whispered, "It is _here._" She was panicked beyond words. Unless she—and the others, if they would help—could mount a defense, and quickly, her world would be obliterated.

"It is resting, fatigued from Its journey," said Saraneth quietly, his deep voice resonating across the meadow nonetheless.

"Yes," agreed Kibeth. "Yizet put up quite a fight."

"Yizet?" Ranna asked.

"My world," Mosrael said, dark eyes downcast. "I was Guardian of Yizet. The world was my Charter. It is only dust now."

"The Destroyer has laid waste to six other worlds before this one," Astarael began, the beauty and sorrow of her voice moving the listeners deeply. "The Destroyer first destroyed my Chartered world. Before Dulai, no one knew of It. I tried to stop It, but my power was insufficient. Dulai…" Astarael's voice broke, and tears began to flow down Ranna's face. "My beautiful, flowering world…is no more."

"Next it came to my Charter," Saraneth boomed, picking up the story. "Astarael—who had followed It—and I tried to stop It but again were unsuccessful." He deliberately avoided the word 'failed.'

"My world was destroyed also," said Belgaer flatly, without emotion, though the loss of his Charter had twisted his perception so that even the ground felt different under his feet.

"As was mine," chimed Dyrim in a voice that seemed too strong, too strident, for a petite woman such as her. "I saw that it would come to pass, that it would not come to pass, that it may come to pass, but even with the help of three others, It could not be stopped."

"My Marrid is no longer teeming with life as it once was," Kibeth said, the jolly, dancing light in her eyes fading to bleak hopelessness. "I failed as a Guardian."

Her words echoed the thoughts of all, save Ranna. _I failed_. They knew that as long as they lived and their Charters did not, they were failed Guardians. Despite It, despite everything, they had failed, and all knew what fate befell Guardians who outlived their Charter. Guardians like them.

After a long silence, Mosrael concluded the tale. "Six was not enough, but nearly. Seven will be all that is needed to bind It and break It in two."

Ranna looked over her Charter, seeing the sun-dappled meadow by the pristine lake, the rolling hills heightening into craggy mountains in the north, the islands in the far south. She loved all of it. All of her beautiful land. The land was called Celestierre; Land of the Stars, for its breathtaking beauty, though Ranna affectionately called it the Old Kingdom. Unlike most, this world had existed before she had been given Guardianship of it.

"Yrael," Ranna blurted.

"I have heard this name," said Kibeth. "Explain."

"Yrael was the first Guardian of this place, this Celestierre," Ranna intoned, beginning her own tale. "This world was made for him. He lost himself in the magic of this place, the power, for it is like no other, wild and untamed. He lost the Charter, and it was passed to me."

"Where is this Yrael?" Saraneth rumbled.

"In the mountains," Ranna replied. He was sealed in a cave, manipulating the wild, free magic, creating fell beasts of terrible power.

"I will go and speak to this Yrael," said Saraneth with authority. "Perhaps he will join us." Saraneth broke the ring and evaporated, reappearing outside a mountain cave.

"Yrael will fight neither for or against the Destroyer," Dyrim said, lost in the many interweaving strands of possible futures. There were several where Yrael _did _stand with them against It, Dyrim saw, but those were neither here nor now, as it was a different Seven who opposed It.

Saraneth rematerialized precisely on the spot where he had previously stood. "Yrael will not join It, but neither will he join us," he announced.

A pillar of fire roared into the sky from behind a hillock near the lake.

"We've waited too long!" Mosrael exclaimed. "It has recovered Its energy!"

Astarael immediately took command. This was the seventh time she had confronted It, and prayed it would be the last. "Ranna, you know the magic of this place. Wrap us in defenses three times stronger than the strongest you can create." As Ranna did so, Astarael continued, "The Destroyer has minimal powers in this state. It is gathering energy from the ground for Its second manifestation." Astarael sighed. "Ranna, Its second manifestation is how it earned its name: the Destroyer. This area of your world will always be scarred, even if we succeed."

Ranna blanched pale white, then her lips tightened. "What must I do to stop It?"

"It will destroy a small area," Belgaer said. "It is hasty, and has not the patience to summon the energy It needs to lay waste to the entire world while surrounded by Life. After It has destroyed the area beyond the hill, it will be as it was before, dormant. We must go to It and bind It by channeling them through our voices. Then someone must break It—"

"Give me the sword, Belgaer," Astarael said with finality.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Belgaer, I am sure. I have always been sure. I will wield the sword."

The towering inferno suddenly grew brighter, going from a sickly yellow glow to a blood-bloated column.

"Cover your eyes!" Dyrim screamed. This was the first time any of the Seven had spoken above a whisper. Dyrim had had a vision of all of them in the circle of magic, glibbering, their vision and sanity burned away, unable to mount a defense against a moth, much less the Destroyer.

As they stood in the darkness of their arms over their eyes, it sounded to them as if Celestierre was being ripped apart. Ranna flinched at each fresh sound, and longed to take a peek, but did not dare. Guardian she was, but when her feet touched the earth and she materialized out of her gaseous state, she was as mortal as any of the animals that were screaming and falling to the ground outside their swiftly evaporating bubble of protection. Finally, the crashing, sizzling, and screams of animals ceased, and the Seven risked opening their eyes.

Ranna burst into tears. What had once been a picturesque meadow by a lake with a hillock rising gently a few hundred yards away was now a hellish nightmare, with no sign of a lake anywhere—it had boiled instantly.

"We must go to It," Dyrim pronounced. "Before It can build back up to a form of power. If we see another pillar of flame, the world will be no more."

Astarael held out one hand to Belgaer, who reluctantly placed a sword in it. Astarael caressed the hilt gently like she was greeting a lover. "With your help," she whispered to it inaudibly, "I shall see Dulai once again."

The Seven walked toward the hillock, chins held high, knowing that behind the rise It was waiting. Over the hill they walked, seeing a globe of utter blackness in the valley. Almost by instinct, they formed a ring around it, just as they had ring Ranna.

"Once again, the noble Guardians try to stop me," It gloated in an awful hissing voice. "You will fail. I am the mightiest Guardian of them all."

There was silence at this pronouncement, and a shiver went around the circle. Guardians were given a world, a Charter, to protect it from all harm. The Destroyer was the complete antithesis of that, and It had been a Guardian?

Astarael spoke, beginning the spell, jolting the Seven back to reality. Her voice rang out like a funeral bell. "For all the people of Dulai, I am Astarael, and I stand against you."

Saraneth's powerful voice cut through the crackle of still-burning fires. "I am Saraneth, and I stand against you."

Since the destruction of his world, Belgaer's voice had been flat, dead. Now it gained expression, and his worlds rumbled out on a tide of emotion. "I am Belgaer, and I stand against you."

"Whether we will succeed or not, I do not see, but I am Dyrim, and I stand against you."

"I am Kibeth, and I stand against you. Wherever you are, I am always against you."

"I am Mosrael, standing against you."

"I am Ranna, of Celestierre, and I could never be anywhere but against you."

Then they sang. Each world had a particular brand of power, and the Guardian of that world channeled the power through their voice to bind the Destroyer. Astarael sang of dew-covered flowers on a cool spring morning. Saraneth's song was of sun-soaked desert, a slight breeze gently stirring the sand. Belgaer proclaimed the wonders of the mountains, and solid earth beneath his feet. Dyrim sang of snow and smooth, cool ice. Kibeth's song was a lively jig performed at Marridian weddings. Mosrael sang the power of rushing water, the unchanging nature of the sea. Ranna's song was of the green, wild meadow, the peaceful lake, the gentle rise of the ground. These songs, instead of clashing, created counterpoint, blending together to overwhelm the Destroyer with what It loathed most—Life.

It hauled up more violent energy from the core of Celestierre, hurling it against the Seven, but the song never faltered. It railed against the song and against the singers, but with seven singers, It could not muster enough power. The song, the energy, the Life constricted It, forming a glistening silver shell.

When It was fully bound, fully silver, Astarael stepped forward, sword ready.

"Die, Orannis," she whispered, and brought the blade smashing down.

It knew this was the end. It channeled all Its destructive power into Astarael while the blade still bridged the gap, still made It whole. Astarael surrendered to the violent energy coursing through her, letting it burn her up even as she saw It sheared in two.

* * *

The six remaining of the Seven refused to let Astarael die. It was not her time. They knew this. If it was her time, Dyrim would have stopped them from crossing into Death to rescue Astarael, not joined them. 

When Mosrael stepped into the cold, gray river under the cold, gray sky, he felt as if he had walked in Death a thousand times. He knew its every twist, turn, and pitfall. He also knew where Astarael's spirit was, even without being able to see it in front of them.

It was not really Astarael's spirit up ahead—it was Astarael. She was a Guardian, and so had no true body, only a spirit.

"Come back with us," Ranna implored. "You are one of the Seven. You defeated Orannis. You belong in Life. Come back with us."

Eventually she came. Together, the Seven tamed the wild Free Magic of Celestierre. They bound up the whole world, the whole Charter, in marks—Charter marks. In the end, they were forced to bind Yrael to Saraneth's indomitable will—and he a Guardian. Such was the power of the Charter. Their work consumed them, and they became a part of the endless flow of the Charter. They left instructions, buried deep in the marks, of how to reproduce their voices, should the need arise. When they were finished, the land was much changed. A great Wall divided Celestierre—the Old Kingdom—in the north from Ancelstierre—the opposite—in the south. For some reason, magic didn't stick in the south, so the Wall kept all of the magic, both Free and Charter, to the Old Kingdom. The Wall was Belgaer transfigured, anchored to the earth forever. Five Great Charter Stones—Kibeth transformed—sat in a reservoir. These stones were the source of all Charter magic in the Kingdom.

Belgaer and Kibeth became objects, but Ranna, Mosrael, and Dyrim chose to live on through Bloodlines—through people. Ranna's Bloodline was the royal family. Unlike other royals, the monarchs of the Old Kingdom could never be truly usurped. No matter what happened—short of the Destroyer's return—at least one of royal Blood would survive. Mosrael's Blood became the Abhorsens, Blood who could walk in Death unscathed, and know all its mysteries, as he did. Mosrael intended the Abhorsen to only walk in Death, not have to banish its inhabitants from Life. There were no necromancers in the Beginning. Dyrim found a tribe of nomads in the far north and gave them the ability to See the future as she did. This tribe became the Clayr, always the most populous Bloodline.

Astarael and Saraneth gave themselves freely to the Charter, but wished to retain some semblance of life, and for the rest of time haunted places where great events unfolded, watching with pride. They were Guardians.

* * *

The Charter was not perfect. Nearly, but not quite. It was small things—a miniscule gap between marks here, another miniscule gap there. The Seven did not know this, for the holes were only accessible—or even visible—to the combined power of Dyrim and Mosrael in one being. 

The third Abhorsen married a Clayr, and their son was the current Abhorsen-in-Waiting. He loved the Charter, and was the most powerful Charter mage ever known—or that ever would be known. He spent more time lost in the flow of the Charter than he did out in the world.

One day he fell through a hole, and was pitched back to the Beginning. He Saw it all, the Destroyer, the Seven, and the making of the Charter. He was the first Rembrancer. When he again emerged into the world, he knew what he had to do.

The fourth Abhorsen was the first to wield the seven bells.

* * *

A/N: I hoped you liked it, and didn't take too much exception to my back story. I didn't intend for there to be one, but it just kind of wrote itself. Anyway, this is where you press the friendly purple button and type in a few words. 


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